


Numb and Broken

by obsessedwithgayboybanders



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Forced Outing, Give it a try, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kind of reality, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape, Sexual Violence, Violence, i had forgotten:, i mean it could happen, idk if it's correct though, im kind of sick, not that i want it to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-05 23:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsessedwithgayboybanders/pseuds/obsessedwithgayboybanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Styles found himself being kidnapped in his own car after getting out of a nightclub. Blinded and tied to his wrists, he was taken out of London by strange men who had one thing in mind: break him until Harry begged to be killed. Would Harry escape from his captors? Would he ever recover from the trauma?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

The air felt heavy and hot, filled with smoke from cigarettes, joints and the dry ice machine - just the way Harry liked it. With a glass of scotch in one hand and friends around him, he couldn't ask for anything else. Actually, he could: Harry wished Louis was by his side, with an arm sneaked around his waist and lips on his neck, but the green eyed singer knew there was no use in expecting their management would allow them to go out together when Louis had a set up dinner with Eleanor.

"Fuck it all", he thought as the liquid burned down his throat. "Better enjoy tonight."

\------------------

It didn't take Harry long to decide to leave the nightclub. He appreciated having fun with some friends (a bunch of Nick's too, all of them older and less famous than the boyband member, and that's how he liked it) but, in the end, what he really wanted was to get home and curl up next to his boyfriend, who should be already back from the staged date and waiting for the youngest in bed.

Thanks for having improved his drinking skills because of all the after parties he'd ever attended, Harry was only a tad tipsy, so he was able to safely walk from the exit to where his driver should be parked. Squinting his eyes for a moment, he spotted the black car the driver used whenever Harry didn't want to be recognized (not that it worked) not too far away. He hugged the remainder of the group goodbye and headed to the other side of the street, smiling brightly as he thought of being with his Boo Bear in some minutes.

Harry opened the backseat door and got in the car, only to be greeted by a strange man by his side, who quickly jumped over and lay him on his stomach. Harry trashed around in an attempt to reach the doorhandle, but the man held a strong grip on Harry's wrists and cuffed them behid his back.

"What the fuck? Help! What's going on?" Harry had sobered up by now and started shouting at the top of his lungs, hoping someone would hear his cries. He regretted it as soon as two fat hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed hard and tight, constricting his windpipe and preventing him from breathing.

"Listen, boy," the man whispered in his ear, "shut the fuck up and don't fight. I'm gonna release my hands now, but if you say a fucking word..." he freed one hand and took a .22 gun out of his belt, touching its tip to Harry's temple. "I'll pull the fucking trigger and smash your brain, alright?" Harry nodded and felt air in his sore throat and lungs, breathing unsteadily but deeply.

The man on top waited until Harry's breath became normal again to cover his head with a black sack and tie it around the neck with a slim rope. He yanked Harry by the back of his shirt and made him seat next to him, where he could point the gun at his head. Now that he was sitting and breathing properly, Harry noticed the car was moving and he wondered if the person behind the wheel was his driver and whether he was forced to drive or this had been his plan all along. He tried to stay calm, but the cuffs hurt his wrists, which stood uncomfortably behind his back, and the unwelcome blackness , along with the pointed gun at him, didn't help the situation.

\------------------

Harry suddenly woke up with a hard tug on his bound arms. He opened his eyes and was confused for a second when all he saw was blackness in front of him, but the previous events of the night came back in his mind after one of the men shouted in his covered ear. He quickly got out of the car and let be shoved into the place, feeling out of breath and sweaty all over his covered face.

"Watch your step, faggot," warned a rough, masculine voice next to Harry. He felt the ground beneath him disappear for a moment and come back again and realized he was on a staircase, going down to a basement, probably. When he reached the bottom, his kidnapper, who was holding him by his shirt, shoved him down, and Harry, who still had his wrists on his back, fell face down on the hard, dirty floor. He moaned, unwilling tears springing from his eyes.

"Shit, Peter," the other man exclaimed, "wanna break him already?" He laughed.

"Of course," Peter answered, no humor in his voice. "Carl, take this shit off his face. Let the games begin."

Carl lifted the boy and stood him on his feet. He easily unfastened the rope around the neck and took the bag out of his head. Harry shut his eyes to avoid the light and coughed to get more air, desperate to breathe properly. His hair stuck to his forehead (he wished he had had a haircut), sweat dropped from his temples, and a large, purple bruise was already being formed on the right side of his face. He was sore, tired - even though he did sleep in the car - and scared, just wishing he was in a very fucked up nightmare, but he knew better than that: this was his reality now, and his life didn't depend on him anymore.

"What did you do to Kurt?" Harry whispered, not looking at the masked guy, but at the .22 gun in his hand.

"Who?" Peter asked back.

"My driver, the one who was in the car," he answered.

"We took care of him, don't worry," Carl said, waving a hand. Harry's head snapped up and his knees started to wobble.

"Oh my God, oh my- you killed him, oh my God, did you really kill-"

"Shut up!" Carl said, stepping closer to Harry, whose knees finally gave out and fell to the floor.

"Please, you- I-I have money, I can give you whatever you want, I- don't kill me, please," Harry said, now freely crying and shaking.

"Shut the fuck up!" Peter shouted and shot the ceiling. Harry jumped a bit out of fear and felt something wet between his legs, which made him cry harder from embarrassment. "We don't want your money, kid. From now on, you belong to us, got it?" Harry's heart skipped faster and he looked away, not wanting to believe the words he had just heard. Peter bent forward and grabbed Harry's chin, forcing him to look at the masked captor. "When I ask you something, you better answer me. Got. It?" He growled, spitting at Harry's face.

Harry nodded and received a slap from Peter, almost knocking him out of balance.

"Answer me with your fucking mouth!" He growled again and grabbed Harry's hair.

"Y-yes," Harry whispered and closed his eyes, trying hard not to choke in between his sobs.

"That's better. Now get up, boy." Peter yanked him by his hair and Harry stood up. "Carl, uncuff him." The other masked guy unlocked the cuffs with his key and Harry quickly rubbed his reddened, sore wrists and wiped out tears and snot dripping from his nose. The bruised side of his face that hit the ground was also sore and already swollen, he noticed as he gingerly touched it. He didn't dare to run away or fight the men because they had a gun (and weren't against its use, it seemed) and the door behind him was closed, which made it impossible to escape, so he just stood there, listening to his own heartbeat. "Use these pretty hands of yours to take off your clothes." He smirked when he saw the look of fear on Harry's face, who shook his head, mouthing "no" over and over.

"Do you want to be hit again?" Carl asked and Harry shook his head, looking at him. "So fucking do what he told you! And fast!"

With trembling hands, Harry took off his blazer and threw it by his side, but his fingers didn't work the way they should when he tried to unbottom his shirt. He looked up with puffy, pleading eyes, silently asking them to give up. Peter grew impatient: he gave Carl his gun and stepped forward, yanking it with both of his hands; after a few tugs, the shirt was ripped open and the buttons were all scattered on the floor. Not wanting to wait any longer, he unfastened Harry's belt and pulled down his jeans.

"Goddamn it, never seen something so tight in my life," he grumbled, and Harry would have laughed at his comment if he were in a different situation. "C'mon, you can do the rest." Harry stepped out of his pants, along with his shoes, and finished taking off his shirt. "I said 'the rest', which includes your underwear, smartie." He laughed and Harry's whole body reacted with a shiver, but his mind told him there was no use to delay the moment, because, in the end, Peter was right: Harry belonged to them. Against his will, the singer held the sides of his boxers in his hands and pulled it down, revealing his cock and ass. He went to cover his bottom half but Carl slapped his hands away and harshly took him to the corner of the room, where there was a pole from the floor to the ceiling with a chain on it. He gulped and let the man handle him as he pleased.

"Sit down and put your hands behind the pole," he instructed and Harry obeyed. Carl cuffed him again and smiled as he looked at the boy. Harry felt pathetic and vulnerable, especially because his movements were constricted and so he couldn't hide his naked, exposed body. "Good boy." He petted Harry's hair (the boy imediately hated the feeling of this man on him) and walked away from him and closer to the door.

Peter got closer to Harry, said "smile!" and, before the younger man realized what was happening, took a picture of him with Harry's cell phone.

"What are you doing?" Harry frantically asked, but couldn't do much else.

"Awe, we need to have good memories of your stay, right? So what's better than some wonderful pictures and, who knows, videos?" He laughed and distanced himself from Harry. Peter joined Carl by the door, who switched off the light, and both left the scared, confused boy in the dark without saying another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, sorry for my "americanized" English, I can't fake a British accent not even when I write.
> 
> Thoughts?


	2. Chapter Two

Louis woke up and the first thing he noticed was the light coming from the open window above his head, which never happened in the morning because Harry liked to sleep in the dark and always closed the window. Confused, he scratched his balls and realized his body was occupying his and Harry's space in the bed, but his boyfriend's side was empty. He looked around the room and tried listening to any sounds coming from their adjoined bathroom, but everything was quiet. He checked his phone but there were no missed calls or texts from him, and when Louis called Harry, no one answered.

"Haz?" Louis called with his raspy morning voice as he reluctantly got out of bed. The door to the bathroom was open and no one was inside, nor were Harry's clothes from the previous night. "Harry?" He asked again, a little bit more worried. Louis looked inside each room, but Harry wasn't there, so he went downstairs, hoping his boyfriend was in the kitchen. When he got there, though, it was empty and with no traces of Harry, not even an empty glass in the dishwasher. Actually, it seemed as if Harry had never come back last night, and Louis didn't know how he felt about that: it wasn't an everyday occurance, but, from time to time, Harry had sleepovers at Nick's or crashed at the other lads', and if he really had slept at a friend's house, it meant he was safe, but it also meant he had traded Louis for someone else (he knew he was being jealous, but he had a right to be).

Louis went upstairs and, against his will, decided to call Nick. The guy wasn't that bad, he admitted, but what he hated the most was that Harry got to spend time with him, an almost 30-year-old out and proud gay man, but couldn't be seen near Louis, his bandmate and best friend. Forgetting about their differences for a bit, he calmly asked if Harry had stayed there, but his voice reached an octave when Nick told him that no, he had only seen Harry last night, when the youngest of the crowd bid his goodbye and went home before his friend.

"Maybe he's at one of your hipster friends'," Louis suggested, going back to his normal, judgemental self when he was near Nick.

"I don't think so, but I'll text them right now." For Harry's sake, Nick ignored Louis' behavior and decided to cooperate (especially because he'd heard worse, anyway).

"OK, I'll text the other three. Look, if they don't answer, call them right away," he answered (sounding more like a warning).

"I will, Louis, don't worry. And I'm sure he's fine."

Louis hang up without saying another word and quickly texted Niall, Zayn and Liam, hoping one of them would answer what he wanted to see, but they all said Harry wasn't there. Cursing his boyfriend and promising he would pay for this once Louis found him, the oldest went back to the kitchen to make himself tea and couldn't help thinking Harry would have already made some if he weren't missing. Damn, he wanted Curly.

\------------------------

Harry didn't sleep much once the men left. His mind and heart raced, his face hurt and he felt like vomiting everything he had drunk in the club. His nightout with friends seemed to be a distant memory, something from another time, from another life, and his being in bed with Louis was only wishful thinking now. He sighed and resented not having his hands free so that he could do the thing with his hair whenever it was messy or he was nervous. Being with his hands tied behind his back also hurt his tense shoulders and neck. His whole body was stiff, actually: he couldn't move his arms and his legs were still in the same position (folded in front of his chest to cover his naked self), just like his numb ass. He could use some massage from his boyfriend.

Louis must be so worried, he thought, with a pang of guilt and sadness creeping down to the tip of his stomach. How long had it been? He had no way of keeping track of time, since his watch and cell phone were taken, and there was no kind of light in the room - everything was pitch dark. Harry was bored, scared, sore, hungry and thirsty and he needed to wait for someone to show up to eat and drink (if they allowed), but he didn't know if that was a good thing. What if they showed up just to hurt him? What if they never opened that door again and he was left to die alone, with no water, no food and no light?

God, he didn't want to die. He wanted to stay alive and go back to his friends, family and boyfriend and forget this night forever. He was scared but he wouldn't give up. He would fight against these men and show them he was stronger and better than expected. He would survive.

The sound of footsteps outside took him out of his thoughts. The door was opened but he could barely see who was getting inside the room due to the ever-present darkness, so he waited until they either turned on the lights or got closer to recognize them, although he didn't need a lot to guess who they were. He heard a click and the blinding lights were on.

"Look, Carl, sleeping beauty's already awake. Damn, was thinking of surprising him with a bucket of water." Peter laughed and walked closer to Harry. "How was your first night, princess?" He asked as he sat on his heels to be at at Harry's level, looking straight into his eyes.

Harry looked away, refusing to meet the stranger's eyes. I will not surrender.

"Damn, boy, haven't you learned anything yet?" Peter laughed and grabbed Harry's chin with fat, calloused fingers. "I will give you one more shot, alright? How was your night?"

"Perfect," he answered, but didn't look at Peter. The older man sighed and shook his head.

"One day you'll learn how to behave. We have plenty of time, anyway." He grinned and turned to Carl. "D'you have the camera with you?"

"Yep, right here," he said and took some steps forward, holding the camera with one hand and a plastic bag with the other.

"Great. Now, Harry, I'm assuming you must be very hungry and thirsty, am I right?"

Harry nodded and received a slap from Peter, who was glaring at him with dangerous eyes.

"Yes, I am," he answered, already knowing he would get something worse if he didn't cooperate.

"So if you're a good boy, you'll get to eat and drink, but if you don't behave properly, I'll have to punish you. Are we clear?" Peter's left hand roamed onto Harry's chest to his neck, where he lightly squeezed as a warning, while he grabbed the gun with his right hand and placed it on Harry's cheek. "Are we clear?" He repeated, smirking.

"Yes, clear as day," Harry answered, voice just above a whisper, feeling the weapon moving with his cheek as he spoke.

"Perfect! Well, first things first: get up, I'm tired of being crouched down." Struggling a bit to support himself, Harry got up and heard the metal of the cuffs rising against the pole. Peter removed the gun from Harry's cheek and put it back in his belt.

"Good. Carl, start recording and don't forget to focus on him." Carl nodded and signaled it was recording. "Now, Harry Styles, we're going to have some rules, alright? Rule number one: you only speak when I tell you to speak. Got it?"

"Yes," he answered, looking at the camera.

"Rule number two: whenever you speak, you look at me." Peter punched Harry's butterfly tattoo, and the youngest clenched his stomach, moaning in pain. He set his eyes at Peter, who smiled. "That's better. Rule number three: if you act like a bad, bad boy, I'll have to do things with you." He smirked as Harry sent him a death glare. "Although I'll do things with you whenever I want." Peter's thick, long index finger roamed down Harry's torso, circled his belly button, continued down his trail and stopped right above his thick pubic hair. Harry bit his lip and felt the need to close his eyes to prevent tears but feared he would get punished if he broke visual contact with his captor. "Carl, quick, focus on his face, now!" Peter snickered and Harry's jaw trembled.

"Oh, look at him, what a baby!" Carl mocked Harry as he worked with the camera in his hands. "Peter, make him cry, I want to see him cry," he said, genuinely excited, as if he were a child asking their parents for a new toy.

"Alright, let's see how long it takes until he's weeping," Peter smirked and rubbed his hands together. Harry didn't have time to wonder what would happen to him because suddenly Peter's fist collided with his jaw and his face snapped right. Although Harry was far from a violent person, his first instinct was to reach out to that guy and break his face with his bare hands, but as they were cuffed behind his back, he could only shake his arms and growl in pain and anger.

"Damn, not even a tear! Gotta do it again, Peter," Carl said in a very mocking tone.

"C'mon, do it, be a fucking coward and b-" before Harry could finish his sentence, Peter struck him again in the face, right on his already bruised cheekbone. Harry yelped but resisted to let a single tear escape from his eyes. "Is that all you can do?" He knew he was taking a huge risk provoking them, but Harry was annoyed and wanted to see how much they would hurt him. He raised his right leg to kick Peter but the captor was faster and took a hold of his foot with strong hands and, as much as Harry wiggled it, Peter didn't let it go.

"Beautiful toes," Peter commented. "Would be a shame if they eventually break..." Harry's eyes opened up in panic as he tried to get out of the hurtful grip.

"No, please, don't break them, no, no, oh my-" Harry's pleads became a loud yelp when Peter managed to snap Harry's pinky toe. The big, fat man didn't look satisfied, as Harry wasn't crying yet, so he moved on to the next toe. He applied more pressure on that one and in a few seconds he easily broke it, driving poor Harry insane. He panted and felt sick, drops of sweat rolling down his creased forehead, rigid muscles aching his body, but he didn't cry (although he was on the verge of balling his eyes out).

"Sure you don't want me to stop? All you have to do is weep, baby boy," Peter said, pinching the next toe with his fingers. When Harry didn't say anything back, Peter shrugged and started to slowly bend the toe towards Harry, who howled once he heard the final crack, but swallowed a lump in his throat.

Three down, two to go. He couldn't give in, but he couldn't have five broken toes either. Well, or ten, if the man went to the next foot. God, he hadn't even eaten yet and he was already being tortured. Deciding the pain and the hunger he felt were bigger than his pride, Harry imagined his mom, Louis, the boys and all his friends worried because of him; he imagined being stuck in that basement forever, dying, alone; he imagined not being able to see his boyfriend and his sister anymore, and when he realized these scenarios could actually be his future, he let his body convulse and let the tears fall freely down his sweaty face while he slid back to a sitting position. Happy with the result, Peter let go of Harry's leg, not caring if it hit the ground. Carefully, Harry bent his knees up to his chest and observed his right foot, swollen, painted in purple and green next to his toes. His cries didn't fade, in fact, they got louder as he let all his pain, hunger, frustration and humiliation sink in.

"Well, that was easy, wasn't it? All you had to do was cooperate, and because you finally did, here's your meal." Carl placed a plastic box next to the boy, who slowly cried lower and lower.

"How- how can I ev-even open this?" He asked through hiccups.

"You're right, silly me!" Peter softly laughed and undid the cuffs with the small key Carl gave him. Harry, despite his recent breakdown, eagerly opened the box, hoping to feel a little better once he had something in his empty stomach, but his frail excitement vanished from him when he spotted salad and a small, overcooked steak. He was going to say something about the terrible menu, but decided he had had enough already.

"Where's the fork?" He questioned again, feeling his stomach grumble.

"No fork needed, faggot. Man the fuck up and eat with your hands!" Peter replied, rolling his eyes. "What a pussy," he add, murmuring.

Sighing, Harry grabbed a handful of shredded lettuce and put it in his mouth. There was no dressing or salt on it, but it was food. He chewed and swallowed the salad, portion after portion, feeling his cheek and jaw ache from the blows. The steak wasn't much better, it was warm and hard, but at least he could taste it in his tongue. He didn't even think of how he had to be looking like an animal (naked, using both hands and salvagely going down on his food), just enjoyed the fact that he was eating. When the box was empty, he took large gulps from the water bottle and finally felt a little less sick.

"Done?" Peter asked and Harry nodded.

"Yes," he quickly added after realizing he had made a big mistake. Peter either didn't realize it or chose to ignore it, but didn't hurt Harry as a consequence.

"Good. Carl, stop recording and unlock the bathroom." Carl turned off the camera, walked to where Peter had mentioned and opened the door. The leader looked at Harry. "Now get up and take a piss or a shit - or both, if you want - in there. Enjoy what little privacy you still have."

Harry didn't let his mind wonder about what that meant because he had to concentrate all his strenght on supporting himself. When he felt he could walk on one foot and only on the other heel so that his toes didn 't touch the ground, Harry slowly but surely limped to the open door. The bathroom was small and contained just a toilet, a bin and a sink, where there was a crumpled paper roll. He didn't really want to know where he would take showers. Harry asked Carl if he could close the door, and when the man nodded in approval, Harry thankfully sighed.

When he exited the bathroom, Carl was waiting for him by the door. They walked back to the pole, where Peter stood with the handcuffs. Harry sat down, trying not to hurt his foot too much, and let the man tie him again. He wanted to ask if he could face the pole, instead of having his arms uncomfortably stretched back, but didn't want to give the men a reason for a new punishment, so he stayed quiet and rested his head on the cold pole behind him. Peter snapped a picture of him (with a different device this time) and, alongside Carl, trotted towards the door. He turned off the light and locked Harry in the dark once again.


	3. Author's note

Hi, guys!

Well, here we go again... I'm really, deeply sorry for the lack of updates (or no updates at all). I knew this was going to happen because I'm a lazy person who procrastinates too much for anyone's liking (especially MINE!). So there was the fact that I'm a true procrastinator who suffers from cronically writer's block and, if these things weren't enough for one person, I have the ability to be the stupidest KLUTZ and let my fucking laptop fall from my hands and crash. Ha ha. He (yeah, I consider my electronic devices people, excuse me) is now fixed and ready to work though, but those were the most painful, boring weeks of my existence.

ANYWAYS, I gotta ask you (whoever's stuck with me - brave people, I must add) something:

Would you like me to continue this story? I started writing this to simply register a very weird story I had in mind: basically, Harry Styles getting hurt. Yeah, like, lots of violence, non-con, angst and etc, so, like, I don't know who will be with me after this statement haha. So, hm, I'll try to keep on writing - I've already started working in the afternoon and evening, but I still have a week off from college.

Well, that's it. Again, I am very, very, very sorry for everything.

xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> Harry, I'd like to apologize for this story: I actually wouldn't want any of this shit to happen to you, my cupcake. Also, I'm really sorry for my "Americanized" English (it's my second language and that's how I learned it).
> 
> Thoughts?


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